Little LiAr on the Shire
by Kazakh Doom
Summary: In a Celtic shire of Boull long ago, Ashley's a maid for the DiLaurentis Clan. Soon, she'll see she's in greater demand than she realizes.
1. Chapter 1

It all began in a shire in the Celtic lands of Boull. Or rather, it continued...

The sun sets over Burgundshire. Shadows conceal it all. Everywhere, the many crofts retire. The coos and other livestock retire as well.

One meter at a time, the shadow of sunset conceals the wall that separates the twin lands of the two mightiest crofts in Burgundshire: that of the Hastings Clan, and that of the MUCH more-endowed DiLaurentis Clan. Some of the lower-ranking locals would say that the Hastingses and the DiLaurentises are feuding. Alas, the Hastingses and DiLaurentises don't prefer to think so. They just prefer to think that they've discovered a rather passionate means of expressing brotherhood...

This is DiLaurentis Castle. It is the HQ, more or less, of the DiLaurentis Clan. Much livestock and many crops are yielded from this land every year. And the ripest generation has borne five sons.

Meet Kenneth. His other relatives trust him a lot more than he expects them to. His bedding is comfy, but not excessive. Many daresay he deserves excessive.

Ashley, the maid, visits him one last time before he retires. She changes the coals under his bedding; they will keep him warm for the first part, at least, of the night.

If you ask him, he wishes his maid would. He deviously stares down her little maid bra, as she serves him. Alas, there isn't much to see down there. Little Ashley is flat-chested.

He rolls over on his side, grins, and stares at her ass, concealed beneath a maid mini-skirt, as she leaves him be. She's stolen his heart; she will NEVER let him be...

Or, so he thinks. For all he knows or cares, there are other ewes on the croft to choose from...

The hours pass. The sun sets. Night creeps around the castle. The moon rises, and the wolves howl.

Quietly, in their beds, like dead men, the DiLaurentis boys rest. They wait for the right moment...

At long last, Kenneth opens his eyes. Like a robot, he pushes the bedding away, rises, dresses, and creeps downstairs...

On his way out, he takes up his fine bo staff. With velvet hands, he fastens the harness its two halves hang from to himself.

In descent, he passes many framed paintings. They're of his paternal predecessors, and of golden palomino horses...which DiLaurentis brides seem to over-favor, for some reason...

Many DiLaurentis brides have been Hastings dames... Alas, now's not the time to think of that.

Kenneth is joined, from the arches that lead into their chambers, by his two brothers, Jason and Mortimer, and two male cousins, Pietro and Tommy; Pietro and Tommy are brothers. Like Kenneth, they're armed.

They creep through the room where their patriarch sleeps. He's well-fed, and slumbers like a Celtic hog. Translucent drapes surround his bed, as they hang from a canopy. Every hour, Ashley changes his bed's coals.

Past him, his five products creep. He slumbers, with low regard to the skeletons in his family's closet. With luck, dawn will shed no light on any skeletons, anywhere. But then, the skeletons of a few wolves wouldn't hurt...

They get to the front door. Stealthily, they open it. They creep outside, descend the front patio steps, and vanish. They leave the front door open.

Shivering, Ashley creeps out from the shadows, and closes the door. She hesitates, before locking the door.

Not too far away, the DiLaurentis patriarch slumbers. He seems so peaceful...and noisy. Ashely would hate to wake him.

She knows she should, to punish Kenneth and the others. But she doesn't anticipate the family feud that would happen if everyone in the house found out about what Kenneth and the others do at night. She sighs, touches the left side of her chest, and lowers her hand. The door will stay unlocked until the boys return...if they return.

Ashley leans her back against the wall, lowers herself, bows, and sighs in grief. She prays, to whatever gods who'll listen and help, to protect her bosses' men, as they meet each other in the bottomland forest...again.

The trees that grow near the river are hardwood, and grow tall. But then, they're codepended by the river's floods. And it does flood. As long as the Celtic lands are green, its rivers will flood like there's no next century.

This is a clearing. Many of the tree trunks that surround it have been branded with the DiLaurentis and Hastings sigils.

The DiLaurentis boys arrive, after a long hike. They wait, in malice, for the arrival of their worse-equipped-yet-more-passionate neighbors...

They arrive. As usual, they're harbinged by their most reliable specimen, Peter. He's here with his brother Scott, and his cousin Warren. They're joined by Hank, and his brother Bobby. They're all armed. They're all here to have at it, with their abominable DiLaurentis neighbors.

Each side lines up, in a rank. They face one another. They start by hissing, growling, griping, and insulting one another. Some of them show off their weapons routines...

Onward, into the night, this goes on. The boys just can't seem to help themselves.

From a castle window, Ashley listens, and sighs. She loves the DiLaurentis family to death...but what's anyone going to do about their paternal legacy?


	2. Chapter 2

Every Sunday, the patriarchs of the Hastings and DiLaurentis Clans call a truce. On each other's fields, they practice shooting their firearms.

This is Erik, the incumbent DiLaurentis patriarch. He stands, and empties his Henry Long Ranger at a target far off. He seldom hits it. But then, he wants this truce to last, and it won't if he satisfies himself with his marksmanship an hour in.

He takes a break, leaves the lever of his rifle's action open, and gives it to Ashley. Her boss's rifle is heavy. Nonetheless, she attends to it, like a good maid...

At least it's not as heavy as it could be. Long-range rifles, after all, are usually smaller in caliber, and thus lighter...

Erik sits in a chair, under a tent. There, he joins Chuck, the Hastings patriarch. Together, they share cold Celtic boilermakers; a mug of stout spiked with a shot of whisky. Ashley, the DiLaurentis maid, has worked hard to see that the stout, at least, remained cold for the occasion.

The two men toast frosty mugs. And, they drink.

"My boys like to sleep in," Chuck grumbles. "And when they do rise, they all look as if a bear had mauled them."

"We must be spirit brothers." Erik sips his boilermaker. "Mine do too."

"We should do something."

"They're young. They've got to learn things on their own."

Far away, Ashley smiles. Her boss may be a fool in many ways...but at least he can prove himself wiser than the opposition, when put to the test.

"I'm worried," Chuck continues, "that one of them might kill another before that happens."

Erik shrugs. "We've both got five. Maybe we should trust the other four to be a buffer?"

Far away, Ashley sighs, and re-attends to her boss's rifle. Sometimes, her boss really is a fool...

Chuck shrugs. "You might be right. We Catholics DO breed like rabbits..."

Ashley scoffs, and returns her boss's rifle, ready for another round. While she's at it, she brings forth another case of ammo.

"Are any," Chuck asks, "of your sons disabled?"

Erik shrugs. "They're all sick in the head." He scratches his own armpit. "Sometimes they call me that."

Chuck arches his brows. "Sounds like we really ARE spirit brothers."

Ashley grins, and shakes her head.

Chuck sips his boilermaker; it's just about run dry. "Has your estate hired any immigrant workers lately?"

Erik shrugs. "Not lately... How about yours?"

Chuck finishes his boilermaker, and sets down the glass. Ashley sneaks in, and ferries it away.

"A few," he admits. Most are Berbers. Some are Arabs. Every now and then, we get a Maltesefellow."

"Interesting investments," Erik comments. "Mine sometimes gets Finns and Estonians. Boy, do they proliferate blond hair over there. It's as if Thor himself impregnated all of their women."

Aside, Ashely nearly barfs at the thought...

Chuck shrugs. "It seems there was a little socialist somewhere in the blond god of thunder..." He sighs, stands, and takes up his Henry single-shot rifle. "I'll be back at it, if you need me."

"I'll be roaring again," Cecil admits, "just like the Wilburn Brothers. Damn, these boilermakers are powerful. MAID! ANOTHER!"

Ashley scoffs, and rushes to the wagon. It disgusts her that after all these years, her boss is STILL calling her "Maid," and "Dame"...

She attends to the wagon, and fetches the stout and whisky. They've brought along quite a big amount. She'd know. She packed most of it, while they were both trying to remember how to put on their clothes...

One of the wagon's wheels is broken. She sighs, and brings the stout and whisky to the canopy.

For the most part, Erik seems at ease, by the time she gets back. But then, he always does...

"Excuse me," she says, "Mr. DiLaurentis…"

"Messieur," he demands, "if you don't mind."

"Okay. Listen, one of the wheels on your wagon is broken."

He nods, and tosses her his keys. They're heavy when she catches them.

"Go to town and get it fixed. And while you're at it, deposit my money."

Ashley freezes. "Your money, sir," she corrects herself, "Messieur?"

He scoffs. "Yes, my money! How do you think I keep you with me?!"

Erik's got a point. Ashley certainly wouldn't choose him, if she could have any boss in the world...

"Thank you," she says. "I'll get it done."

"Good," he says. "Just don't leave us out here on our own! It's already bad enough our sons hate each other, and that the sheriffs think we're a threat to society!"

Ashley scoffs. "You will be one day," she mutters, "if you're not already..."

Before long, she's driving the wagon to town. Alas, there's a LOT of countryside she's got to pass, before she gets there...

She steals sneaky glances, at the envelope of money that's in the passenger's seat. That's a big amount. And lately, Ashley's felt she hasn't been paid enough. Perhaps, it's time to do what common sense would do, if common sense ever ruled the Hastings or DiLaurentis Clans...


	3. Chapter 3

On the DiLaurentis estate, the crops grow like weeds. And the weeds grow like...something that needs to be plucked daily.

Out here, among immigrant peasants, Ashley helps. Around her, many of these immigrants look sinister...and alien. They stimulate her. They stimulate her even more, when they get too close to her.

She avoids them. She'd rather not, but...she'd hate for Master DiLaurentis to lose his maid to some foolish immigrant peasant's greed...

One at a time, Ashley plucks the weeds. All around her, all the strange and creepy-looking immigrants help.

Down the alley, a sheriff rides. He wears a wide-brimmed hat, and a deterring uniform. His steed is just as deterring. His steed seems very...wild.

Meet Darren Wilden. The ladies adore him. Alas, he's not one to settle down. He's got Celtic lands to protect, and from what he's dreamt, the Celts' enemies don't take long lunches...or vacations...or maternity leave...

He rides through the country, and surveys Lord DiLaurentis's peasants. To him, they're filthy degenerate migrants. He'd expect Lord DiLaurentis, of all people, to do a better job of hiring help that doesn't embarrass him as a crofter. Sadly, the Celtic lands have got a LONG way to go before they can start competing with the Germanic ones...or even the Roman ones...

He scoffs, and keeps riding. He still can't believe the shire pays him to protect such degenerate filth...

On her knees and picking weeds, Ashley looks up. She sees the sheriff leave. She shivers. For some reason, the sheriffs have always made her feel uneasy...

The sun goes down. Many yews surround an alley near the DiLaurentis estate. They're more like a small forest. Inside, many of the DiLaurentis men snore...

Like a mouse, Ashely creeps here and there. She thinks she's lost. Here and there, a mouse scurries. She gasps, and backs against a yew.

She gets stuck by the needles, and gasps again. Her back is bare. Most of herself is bare. It's getting colder out here...

Something big approaches. Ashley's heart is petrified...

It's a stag. To Ashley, it stands as high as a tree. It looks down upon her. She shivers.

The stag rears, and bugles. Ashley screams.

There's a loud bang, and blood splatters from the stag's chest. Ashley screams even louder.

The stag falls over. Ashely screams again.

Someone shines a light on her. She screams again.

There's a sheriff, on horseback. His own light shines in his face. Ashley stops screaming, and stands petrified. It's her worst nightmare: Sheriff Wilden.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she implores, not knowing whether to feel more intimidated by his uniform, his manliness, his horse, or the fact that he just killed a stag that was about to bite her. "I just... I lost my way home. That's all."

He stares at her, with sinister eyes. "You work for Lord DiLaurentis," he hisses, "don't you?"

She nods, like a scared little girl.

He points at a house, nearby. "Then for you, I believe THAT'S your home."

Now, Ashley feels embarrassed. She trembles, and nods. "Thank you," she stammers. "I didn't see it there. Sorry for the trouble." She starts to scurry away.

"I've seen you around."

She freezes in her steps. She dreads what will happen next...

"Does your master treat you alright? I've seen who he recruits, to work in his fields. You don't seem like them. You seem...out of place."

"I don't know what you mean. I'm just a maid. As far as he's probably concerned, I belong in a pig sty."

"Ah, well," he dismounts. "If he truly thinks that about you, then maybe I should..."

"NO," she almost screams. "No, it's okay. I was being figurative. He doesn't beat me, he's just... We never talk. And sometimes, it feels like he doesn't get me."

"Ah, well." He approaches her, and helps her up. He looks her up and down. Ashley feels very uncomfortable. "My name is Darren Wilden. I'm a sheriff of the shire."

She doesn't move. "I can see that," she whispers.

"If you ever need someone to connect with, you know what I look like. I ride patrols out here all the time."

"Yes," she almost squeals. "I've noticed."

He nods. "Sorry I scared you." He acknowledges the stag. "I'll get a crew to help me come haul this off in the morning. I'd hate for you to do it. It's already bad enough you had to witness that accursed behemoth get slain."

"It didn't bite me," she reminds him. "Thank you...for that."

He tips his had. "I'm a sheriff. It's my job to protect local Celts...even if they are mere peasant girls. Not that I'm biased, or anything."

She studies him.

"I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Miss..."

"I'm a maid in Lord DiLaurentis's household. My status should be sufficient enough for our dealings."

"Very well...Maid." He re-mounts his horse. "I'll see you around." With that, he kicks his horse, and rides off.

At long last, Ashley draws an easy breath. She looks up at the house. Every light in it is off. It sure takes a lot of commotion to raise a rumpus here. If Ashley didn't know any better, she'd say that DiLaurentis men had no respect for women...

She screamed four times. A stag got killed, just outside the house. Why didn't someone in the house come outside? Don't they know how shitty their house would become, if not for their maid?


	4. Chapter 4

Ah, the Presbyterian Church... There's nothing like it...except irreligion...and atheism...and nontheism...and antireligion...and disestablishmentarianism...

Here, every good clergy knows how to spell that word. It's spelled,

E, for every Celt must kiss Jehovah's/John Calvin's bastardized ass, no matter what,

S, for some people are just religious, and that's the way of it,

T, for trouble always comes from irreligious habits,

A, for any man who doesn't go to church is doomed to become a crook,

B, for be nice to mothers; they don't have to control their tempers, and it's okay for them to commit wrath; just not okay for anyone else to,

L, for lots of bullshit for the Great Commission to correct,

I, for is it Sunday yet?

S, for suck it up, son; you're going to be a Christian when you grow up, and there'll be no arguing the point, if you commit a deadly sin,

H, for how the fuck does evil live with itself?

M, for my blouse needs loosening, but I dare not loosen it, because only whores sweat in church, and I sure as hell ain't one of THOSE things,

E, for evil go home,

N, for never give up your faith, or so help Jehovah, John Calvin, and the fucking kings of the fucking Celtic lands, all of the above will kill you,

T, for toleration of evil is strictly for evil, and no one else,

A, for a Baum in Gilead...which is nowhere near the Celtic lands, but still looks good in a pro-religious rant,

R, for rid the fucking world of fucking evil, in the name of the Great Commission,

I, for I'm going to destroy every single fucking little retarded non-believer in the world, if I have to molest the reincarnated infant Satan himself,

A, for Abraham should've lived forever,

N, for no LGBT folk allowed,

I, for Isaac trumps Ishmael, no matter who the fuck you are,

S, for Samson didn't destroy enough evil when he destroyed the Philistines, and

M, for murder to all sinners!

Okay... Maybe every good clergy DOESN'T know how to spell it. But even so, they swear an oath, and they're all castrated. For every single one of their fucking little souls, there's no escaping the divine commitment to Jehovah, and the fleas he catches, both from being disobeyed, and not being believed in.

As usual, the congregation assembles on Sunday morning. As much as she'd sometimes prefer not to be, Ashley's among them.

All around, they stand in the pews, and chant religiously. Most of them are much taller than Ashley. It makes her feel uneasy...like a sweating whore in church. Even so, SHE'S got nothing to hide...unlike a lot of other idiots who come here every week...or MUCH less often than that...

_O Sacred Jehovah, your shit fertilizes our dear land _

_It keeps the peasants from going on strike _

_Even if it doesn't keep their mouths clean _

_Or transfigure the immigrants among them into pureblood Celts _

_Sweet potatoes flow from your shitty ground _

_Without which some of our whiskey would be impossible to distill _

_Most of us prefer corn, but potatoes are cold weather-tolerant _

_At least the Slavs distill vodka without shame _

_Your shit helps the grass grow, on the crofts, _

_The sheep guzzle it, as if they were engines, and it was biomass _

_The Celtic stew that we brew with their mangled appendages _

_Owes its sweet corny and Celtic-seasoned goodness to the fertility of your shit _

_Sweet fertility, that causes Ireland and Brittany, both, to have overbreeding issues _

_Not to sound like the Pharisee in one of the Son's parables, but, _

_FUCK, ARE WE GLAD TO NOT BE THEM! _

_And the roe deer, that grow as big as devils _

_They'd not do so without your shit _

_Or the grass it yields _

_And let's not forget the coos, both horny and not, _

_For their wool keeps our asses warm in the winter _

_The Irish and Bretons tell us that we are degenerate _

_But we, your real followers, know the truth: _

_They are lustful and greedy, and therefore the REAL Bible-abusers _

_We're just trying to make a living _

_Plus, the Irish make whiskey of their own, _

_And the Bretons wine, and brandy, and cognac of their own_

_Our liquor makes theirs taste like shit _

_And it will never compare to your shit, O Jehovah, _

_Which you make special, just for us _

_It keeps the gravy flowing from the lamb carcasses, _

_And the Scotch flowing from the corn... _

Ashley heaves a sigh. Sometimes, it feels like this church does more chanting than it does teaching...

Meet Brother Ted. He will be preaching today's message. Before him, many of the single ladies groom themselves, at the last minute.

Ashley does, too. She must confess that he seems nice, for a clergy.

"The beauty of femininity," he begins, "can be a beautiful thing. It inspires. It brings ease, in worlds where none so much as flowers. Its politics are legendary.

"Alas, in the grand scheme of things, that is all it merely is: politics. It's great for spreading joy and inspiration. But in all societies, that is were it must stop. Otherwise, sin is the next step towards it.

"Dear daughters, I implore you; do not be overcome by your mothers' beauty. You must, instead, overcome your mothers' beauty with the strength of your wills. Deep inside your very fertile chests, there is a heart. It might not beat as loudly or quickly as those of the boys you might or might not have crushes on... But I tell you, it is there. And unlike your mothers', yours still have life left in them.

"The female heart is a fragile thing. It kills more women than rape does."

At this, Ashley scoffs.

All around, the entire chapel turns, and looks at her. Ashley looks around. They don't stop looking, for some reason...

Ashley tries to look small, smiles, and waves. They all heave a sigh, and turn back towards Brother Ted. Some of them fart while doing so; pure corn from their precious whiskey, and from the Celtic stew, both courtesy of the Holy Shit of Jehovah and John Calvin...

"Your hearts are young," Brother Ted continues. "They thrive, like a spring morning of butterflies, songbirds, and flowers! Daughters; do not waste your youth. And do not become a political slave of your local fashion clique's queen bee. You are better than beauty. You have wills like spring, and the dawn, and the heat and moisture of the wind! Rise, and let them shine! Be free of your dependence on the flowers and perfumes of your mothers! Their hearts may die, and their fashion may end up in the garbage. But wherever your will thrives, you will ALWAYS be remembered!"

Ashley smiles, and twirls her brunette hair. She finds comfort in Brother Ted's sermon...even if she's more inclined to think that's a bad idea, for whatever reason...


	5. Chapter 5

Night falls over the chapel. Outside, fireflies dance among the grass blades...

In the chapel, the lights are dim. The late night crowd, as thin as it is, sits in the pews, and chants...

As for Ashley, she takes a seat at the confessional. She slides open the vent.

"Forgive me, cleric, for I have sinned," she says. "It's been an eternity since my last confession."

"I must confess so," Brother Ted, inside, says, "no pun intended. Now, what relics of Jehovah and John Calvin have you soiled?"

"Once, I saw my boss's sons leaving the house to go out and fight my neighbor's sons, and didn't tell my master about it. Once, I embezzled my master's money. And once, I broke the Seventh Commandment with a local sheriff."

Brother Ted smiles. "That all sounds very intense. Tell me about the first of the three; your boss's sons."

"They're at war with the boys next door. They always are. I live with Lord DiLaurentis."

Brother Ted arches his brows. "Next time, I wouldn't mind if you brought some brandy out here. Sounds like you've got a whole novel to read me."

"Are...you allowed to drink?"

He shrugs. "We take communion here, don't we?"

She arches her brows. "Good point. Anyway, Lord DiLaurentis is worried about starting a war with the men of Hastings Manor. Every night, my boss's sons go out, and trade insults. I've had to treat a few of their injuries; I think maybe the confrontations get physical. But I'm never there, so I don't know."

"You're right to not be there," Brother Ted says, fixing his own hair, and studying the maid's perfect face, in the vent. "I'm sure your master, and his sons, would both hate for you to get killed."

"I would too. But by not stopping them, I dread that I'm letting them get killed. And hence, what I do is tantamount to breaking the Sixth Commandment."

"Daughter; if you must kill them to keep them from getting killed, then you mustn't. What matters more is their own decisions for themselves. You're right to want to protect your family; don't get me wrong. But what you try to protect them from is bigger than you. You must let it have its own way, as you would let Jehovah have his."

"Thank you, Father."

"It's Brother, actually. Now, about the second?"

"My master doesn't pay me enough. He let his guard down around his finances. I took what I needed."

"But you didn't take all of it?"

"No. I did deposit what I didn't need, as he ordered me to."

"And, is Lord DiLaurentis OCD?"

Ashley shrugs. "He's been known to overreact to wrongs against his family... But no, I've never known him to be OCD."

"Daughter, it is not a crime to take for yourself what you need. I don't know your master very well, but I can assure you that if he truly wanted what was best for you, he'd let you have what you need, tax-free. It's already bad enough that the state taxes, after all."

"Yes, Father, it is."

"Brother. Now, the third?"

"We didn't actually have sex. He...saved me from a stag in rut."

Silence follows. Ashley listens, worried.

"Father? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am. I'm just...taking time to process what you just said. I'm glad you're alright. What happened to the stag?"

"Sheriff Wilden killed it. It was about to bite me...or do worse. He probably could've threw me halfway across the Celtic lands with that sixteen-point rack."

"I detect a bluff."

"I don't actually remember how big its rack was. I just remember being terrified."

"Of the stag, or him?"

Silence follows.

"Did he threaten you?"

Ashley shakes her head. "There were times where he felt threatening. I'm sure he was just trying to comfort me, but... A few times, he overexerted himself in that. I think he sees me in a bad way."

"Sounds like the feeling's mutual."

"I don't know. I can't say. I like him, but I'm afraid of him. I've broken the Seventh Commandment."

"You were not married. Sheriff Wilden...ISN'T married, is he?"

She shakes her head. "I've never asked him."

"And he didn't rape you."

"Not physically."

"And you didn't seduce him?"

"Not always on purpose. I don't think I succeeded."

"Well... It sounds to me that you're just rebounding from a scary first encounter with a man. I've seen that before. Although I must confess that most such stories don't have stags in them."

Ashley scoffs. "Really?! These are the Celtic lands!"

"Yeah, I know. Most ladies don't get out that often. Speaking of which, would you like to play polo sometime...away from the confessional, I mean?"

"I have to go. Thank you for not damning me, Father."

With that, Ashley leaves in a hurry. In the confessional, Brother Ted laughs, and shakes his head.

"It's Brother," he corrects her, one last time.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a long dark path, from the chapel back to the Castle DiLaurentis. And it mostly runs through the Drakewood.

High above, the black sky is lined with stars. They're the only light to light this path. And they're not enough.

With small feet, little Ashley treads the long dark path. A fog has started to rise from it. It spooks Ashley...but she must keep going. The way home is through these woods...as much as she hates to admit this.

She sure likes that preacher, Brother Ted... Alas, she may never tell him how she feels about him...

Out there, nightjars hoot. Here and there, she steps where they hide. She screams, when they do. Clearly, this path doesn't get enough traffic, by day...

In the dark, within the trees, wolves slither around. Here and there, Ashley can see the glimmer of their eyes. This freezes her heart. Alas, she must not let this keep her from keeping going...

In the forest, there's a tree. It has a scarlet letter A painted on its trunk. In the dark, the A begins to glow with bright red light...

Ashley freezes. She turns her head. She senses something. It calls to her...

"Ashley," she hears a man's voice call out. "Ashley..."

Leaving the path, she proceeds. Behind her, the dimly lit way of the path fades farther and farther from sight.

High in a tree, a scops owl watches. He's joined, by a twin. They watch her together.

The tree stands atop a mound. Ashley's almost to the base of it. She looks around. She ascends the mound.

From a branch, a bat hangs. He grooms himself, as this quiet horror unfolds...

Ashley stands before the trunk. She sees it...but she can't quite read it. Sad. It is, after all, just one letter...

It shines even brighter than before. Ashley's eyes shine back...with the same-colored light. She's frozen. Around her, time has slowed. She can't stop looking at the letter...

From a tree, a leaf falls. It's suspended in mid-fall. It's like it's not even falling at all...

From a rose bush, a rose petal falls. It, too, has been frozen in mid-fall...

Time passes. Ashley's eyesight is trapped in a beam...

At last, the A dims. Ashley blinks...and moves. She feels MUCH more relaxed now. Perhaps, even, TOO relaxed...

From up in the tree, a black widow spider crawls. Ashley doesn't see it...

She needs to settle down. So, she sits, and leans against the trunk. She sets herself at ease, and tries to rest.

Now, the black widow's on her neck. If she feels it, she doesn't show.

From inside, the spider glows with red light; the same red light as the A. He rears up, and takes a huge bite into her neck.

Ashley flinches, and feels for the bite. She DOES feel this...

The spider falls from her, and scurries on. In his wake, Ashley falls over on her side. He generates a silk thread, and balloons away...missing her falling body by nths.

He need not worry, though. In a few hours, she'll be more like prey to him... (He's anticipating it...and the thought that she isn't only pleases him...)

All around, Ashley's surrounded by the Drakewood. As many others have before her, who've been unfortunate enough to get trapped in here, she'll soon wish she wasn't...


	7. Chapter 7

There's a tavern in the town. It's called Dixons' Draft Falls.

Here, the whiskey flows like water, and the stout flows like wine. The Dixons often seem exasperated, by the number of DiLaurentis and Hastings men that come here a lot. They're even more exasperated, and fed up, with all the barroom brawls that happen here because of either a Hastings, a DiLaurentis, or one of each.

There are stag heads on the walls...as well as bear heads, wisent heads, boar heads, wolf heads, wild ram heads, and wild billy heads. There are also pheasants, grouses, and geese. There are also pikes, muskellunges, trout, and carps. In this community, the men work hard for their rewards...or, so they say. Some of the women here, alas, are pretty sure that they've all just gotten so used to over-elaborating and over-embellishing true stories, that it no longer matters how minor the true stories are; their tellers have long-forgotten them.

Tonight, they're all here: Kenneth, Jason, Mortimer, Pietro, Tommy, and Billy from the DiLaurentis clan; and Scott, Nathan, Hank, Bobby, Warren, and Peter from the Hastings one. The DiLaurentises are not yet aware that their precious maid is unaccounted for.

Tonight, Sage Lund is their barmaid. She flirts with the boys, while re-filling their boilermaker mugs with stout. With small hands, she collects their empty whiskey shots, and replaces them with new ones. Some of the Hastings boys slap her on the ass...which she seems to enjoy.

Sage seems particularly fond of Kenneth; the oldest of the DiLaurentis boys. But then, such is the self-esteem of a bitch from Hel and Niffelheim...

Wherever there are women, there are fights between men. And tonight, such a brawl will happen over the DiLaurentis maid.

They all lust for Ashley...but only a few of them are bold enough to admit it...with the barmaid listening in. Kenneth thinks he has a claim to her body because he's the oldest DiLaurentis son. Billy thinks he's more worthy, because as the youngest son, she's got to take more care of him; hence, he has a debt to her.

The other DiLaurentises snore at this, of course. A few of the Hastings bros do, too.

Alas, Peter seems to think that Billy has a good point. He, too, knows what it's like to be a youngest son. Even so, Ashley needs a man who'll care for her. And all the capitalist crowd does to women is abuse them, and make them slaves.

"Aw, what's the matter, Pete?" Scott rebuffs his youngest brother. "We're ALL capitalists here! Don't look us in the eye, and tell us that you want to quit the wolf pack just because you're an omega!"

Peter takes the stand. "She's a human. She deserves better." He trembles. "And...I think I'm that man."

Kenneth scoffs. "You're not a man. You're a boy!"

Peter trembles... Then, he leaps atop the table, and charges down its length towards Kenneth...who sits at the other head of it, of course.

And, the barroom brawl is on. The other brothers assemble around the fight...the younger DiLaurentises on one side, and the older Hastingses on the other...and they both root for their own blood.

Or rather, MOST of them root for their own blood. Tommy and Warren deviously root for Peter and Kenneth, respectively...

Kevin Lund, a local sheriff, hears the commotion, comes in, draws his pistol, aims it at the ceiling, and shoots. Instantly, all calms. All of the Hastings and DiLaurentis brothers stand, and struggle to keep their composures...which, of course, is hard to do, because most of them are full of stout and whiskey.

"Ah," Lund remarks. "YOU again." He holsters his pistol; the rest of the bar draws an easy breath. "There just isn't enough dangerous stuff for you to do at home, is there?"

"We were just..."

"Save it. I'm sure that whatever it is, it's laughable. Or, WOULD be, rather, if accidentally killing an innocent victim in this bar was worth laughing at."

"That didn't happen!"

"I know." He looks around. "Which is why I will warn you...again. As much as I'd love to book you, you've committed no crime other than causing a scene. But just to be clear," he raises a finger, "if I were Odin himself, you'd all be smote of where you stand as fast as a bolt of lightning. And I MEAN that!"

Hank swallows hard. "Lightning is...THOR'S respo...actually..."

Lund arches his brows. "SAGE! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO WORK HERE!"

Sage, who's drying a beer mug, shrugs and scoffs. "That's no longer your call, is it...father?"

Lund sighs heavily. It pains him to think that dealing with her would've been MUCH easier, a few months ago...

"Do you mind?!" Kenneth seems anxious. "We've got a dispute to resolve!"

"Okay. But you're not resolving it here."

They all groan.

"I thought you said we hadn't committed a crime!"

"I'm not doing this for you! I'm doing this for everyone else here. This isn't your tavern...in case you sometimes forget. And if it was...Odinforbid if you weren't its only customers. Now...we can either do this the easy way, where I ask you, and you obey," he unbuckles another holster, and pulls out a baton. "OR, we can do this the hard way, and I use this to drove all of you from the tavern, and however far away from it I expect you to stay, if you don't want the rest of these patrons to call me again about you."

Kenneth looks at his siblings, nods, and leads them outside in single file. Lund looks at the Hastingses, and waits.

Scott waits until the DiLaurentises have left the premises. Only when he's sure, he leads his own brothers out. Lund personally closes the door behind Peter...who's the last one out.

Behind the bar, Sage is still cleaning. Lund comes over to the bar to talk to her.

She serves him a beer. "Sorry about that, Daddy," she says. "I don't really mind it so much...just so you know."

He scoffs, and sips the beer she's served him. "You're not the reason why I hate them. You are, but you aren't. I know how impressive it might all look, but... What those guys do kills, in other places. And if they get too comfortable doing what I let them do..."

"Yes, I know, Daddy. You deliver this speech every time I start seeing a new guy."

Lund sighs. "In ways, I have hopes for both families. In others," he looks around, "I can't help but have a hunch that they're just a pair of gauntlets, just waiting to be worn by a certain mastermind who's MUCH worse than they are..."

Across the street, there's a clothing store. Its sign says, VANDERWAAL OUTFITTERS.


	8. Chapter 8

Drakewood is still very dark. A night has passed, since Ashely's encounter with the A widow.

Now, she's a thousandth her normal size. Around her, the forest undergrowth towers over her, like a forest of its own. These aren't the woods she's used to. Alas, she'd be lying, if she said she didn't know anything about this place...

Down here, the field mice are as big as elephants. Ashley is no mammoth hunter...although she does admire the profession.

Ah, if only Sheriff Wilden could see her now... She'll likely be better off if he never does. Her dress size was already too small for him.

Through the forest canopy, bats fly. They scream, as they do. They use it like sonar. If their screams bounce off something solid, they know to swerve to avoid it.

Ashley's heart freezes in her chest. For her sake, she sure hopes that bats don't ground-feed...

Alas, one strays away from the swarm. He's got a hog-like nose. He smells something. He's got big ears; he HEARS something. It sounds tempting. He swings around, and swoops down...

Ashley sprawls out against a stalk of grass, and hides. She clenches her eyelids, as she senses the incoming of a bat's wing-flaps...

He skids across the ground, and builds a furrow in the undergrowth. Ashely screams, as she's hurled over several square meters of the forest-within-a-forest.

She falls on her bum, in an alley within the undergrowth. She's quick to stand. She's even quicker to look around, for a sign of her attacker...

From overhead, he's coming back. And he's coming on fast.

He can't see her. Ashley takes advantage of that. She finds a bunch of something, and conceals herself inside its fronds.

Outside, the bat lands in the alley, and skids to a stop. Ashley hiccups when he does this.

The bat stops, and raises his head. Ashley gapes, and covers her mouth.

Now, like a hound dog, the enormous bat sniffs around, for his quarry. Bats aren't known for their sense of smell...but they might as well be, since their eyesight is already poor.

Ashley backs away, and sprawls against a blade of what this is, desperate to avoid detection. Her heart thunders. She knows the bat can hear it. She knows it's only a matter of time...

She's being watched. She can feel it. She looks to her left and right. She looks ahead. Only the bunch surrounds her...

She dreads to do this...but she must. She looks in the only other direction she hasn't looked: up.

On one hand, it's just a moth. OTOH, those huge eyes and writhing mandibles sure look scary, when you're as small as Ashley...

She screams, and runs out of the bunch. She's so terrified, she's forgotten why she's run in here in the first place.

In his talons, the bat collects her. Ashley has no choice but to scream, and go with it.

Below, the ground gets farther and farther away from Ashley. Above, her carrier won't stop screaming. But then, that makes two of them.

At one point, Ashley gets free. Alas, the bat only hooks one of his talents to her panties, and leaves her hanging upside down.

He rises back into the canopy and flies around. He sends screaming signals through the treetops...both to know where he's going, and to relocate his swarm.

For Ashely, being trapped at a high height is bad enough. She hates heights, and she hates flying. Except not only is she upside-down, but only a bat's talon separates her from the worst of gravity's threat.

The bat's got her hooked. She dreads where he'll land...or what he'll do to her, once he has...


End file.
